


Song IV - Un Bel Di

by Sam I Am (Sam_I_Am89)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Grey Havens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_I_Am89/pseuds/Sam%20I%20Am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam sails to the Undying lands. A one-shot inspired by 'Un Bel Di' from Madame Butterfly by Puccini, as part of the Random Song Fic Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song IV - Un Bel Di

Song IV - ‘Un Bel Di’ from Puccini’s “Madame Butterfly” sung by Ying Huang

 

_Mi metto là sul ciglio del colle                   I stay upon the edge of the hill_

_E aspetto gran tempo                              And I wait a long time_

_e non mi pesa a lunga attesa.                   but I do not grow weary of the long wait_

_..._

_Tienti la tua paura -                                 Hold back your fears -_

_Io con sicura fede lo aspetto.                   I with secure faith wait for him._

 

The request had been unspoken. It needn’t have been spoken, in his mind at least. The quiet aching wish that had settled in his heart and warded off grief with a stubborn mantra of ‘one day... one day...’ had never had to be asked for; it just was.

 The wooden boards beneath his feet creaked slightly and the heavy, warm rain began to clear from his old eyes and cease its rhythmic pulse against the deck. His stomach no longer felt queasy except with some sudden realisation that, as usual, he’d foolishly stumbled into a decision with seemingly little thought for the consequences past easing the tight cord about his lungs that drew him West.

 A shore could be seen now, pale and grey in the pre-dawn. At the sight of it, his heart filled with wonder like none he’d felt since he’d been a young lad. The expanse of land growing on the horizon was greener than he could’ve believed grass to grow with all his years of knowhow on the subject; it hardly seemed like a real colour at all in Sam’s mind.

 He breathed in the air, fresh from the rain and watched mesmerised as suddenly the white sands began to brighten to a golden hue. The sun was rising behind him, but Sam did not turn as the glorious land before him seemed to clear the cobwebs from his eyes and ears and draw out the poison that had caused all his joints to ache as he had become old and weary.

 He gasped at the sensation, the cleansing that the rainwater drying on his face achieved in the early light. His body seemed strong again and he no longer had to lean heavily against the stern as the ship slipped through the shallow water as if it were molten mirror. He did not dare glimpse his reflection in these magic waters, worried it would break this spell that had fallen over him.

 He had dreamt of this day, seen a hundred variations of his arrival, wondering if he would find some buried youth within himself. His Mam had always said ‘You are only as old as you feel’ and hearing the waves lapping up about him and seeing the dawn glinting off the land before him made him feel like a giddy tween again.

 His heart was pounding a deep rhythm against his ribs, similar he thought to the jigs his girls would perform, laughing and breathless and so very very beautiful or so he thought with only a little blind pride. He thought back to his Elanor, her eyes warm even when wet with sadness, her lovely hands holding Mr Bilbo’s book to her chest reverently. He would miss her most of all, he supposed, miss her constant worriting and the sound of her singing inside the smial when she’d been younger and he’d been working in the garden. He wondered if...

 He wondered if _he_ remembered her.

 Before he knew it, the bottom of the boat scraped soft sand and the sailors about him leapt over the side to pull the elegant vessel fully onto the land. Songs and rhymes seemed to be exhaled from the trees further inland where soft petal-coloured lights glowed like a flowerbed made of stars, elven voices welcoming him as if he truly deserved it.

 A tall body lifted him up and lowered him to the fine sand which prickled against his toes just like the excitement skittering all over his skin. As he touched this new land, he felt a last burst of hot rejuvenation exploding in his heart like a red and gold firework and then an over-whelming urge to weep at the sight of this land, the knowing that he’d find true peace here at last, the missing part of his heart.

 “Master Samwise,” one of the elves said with a respectful bow and fond smile. Shaken from his thoughts, he looked at his companion, who merely glanced further down the beach, the opposite direction to the lights, as glittering white cliffs began to rise from the sea.

 With rekindled speed and impatience, Sam left with only a few hurried words of gratitude. He left the sand and began up the winding path towards the top of the cliffs, the pale stone warm beneath his soles as if it had been under an August midday sun for hours.

 Time told him it was Autumn, both for the world and in his lifetime; Sam felt like Spring, like he’d been drowsing for a long, long winter, finally awakened and hearkening to some silent call from within him that it was time to start again.

 He climbed faster, only restraining from running for fear that he might wear his newly-healed joints out.

 As he reached the crest of the cliff and looked towards the next bay, a silvery haze of smoke could be seen rising from a chimney sticking out of a small hillock with windows and flowerbeds and...

 Sam’s lungs were heaving from the climb and he choked on the sweet air at the unimaginable sight, his eyes falling on a pale figure stood close to the edge of the cliff, barefoot in the untrimmed grass, moss green cloak flapping in the westerly wind, the wind that had brought Sam home. Blue eyes were fixed on the horizon, a small frown between dark eyebrows, hand clutching a vial of starlight hanging from his neck.

 It was his master, looking like aught had changed for him in all these long years.

 No, he had changed; he was how he’d been _before_ , before the wearying burden and the sickness and the grief. Sam couldn’t take another step, knees all turned to jelly as he hoped he wasn’t just seeing things, that his one wish was really, finally, coming true.

 Then his master’s spine stiffened where he stood and Sam knew he’d been spotted, although Frodo’s eyes never left the sea. Sam remembered how he’d been unable to look at his reflection in the waves for fear his face would still be wrinkled and weathered.

 He took a step closer and he could almost hear the shivering sigh that escaped Frodo’s mouth in anticipation and dread of disappointment. He wondered how many times Frodo had stood and watched the horizon, wondered how long the time had felt waiting for him to come.

 Sam felt sick in his tightly knotted stomach, knowing that things should never have been this way. That Frodo should never have had to go anywhere without him, even to get better.

 He took small slow steps, feeling every inch of him mourn for time lost and pain caused, but also rejoice at the sight of the only thing in his life that had seemed far too great, far too _big_ for Sam’s humble world. No simple gardener’s son, no hobbit, should ever have felt this, this fierce throbbing of passionate feeling that he’d once thought only elves and men in long troubled tales could truly experience.

 Then Frodo’s head snapped over to look at him and Sam froze mid-step, not a hobbit’s arm length away from him. Frodo’s stare was wide and doubting and Sam wished he could find voice to reassure him. Frodo drew a sharp breath in through near-gritted teeth in a hiss, eyes damp as a hand rose between them as if caught on the breeze. Sam didn’t look at it as it stopped to hover close to his chest and then floated up with an eddy to cup the air around his jaw. A deep shudder ran through him as if they were already caressing his skin, but he kept his eyes on Frodo’s, or rather Frodo kept his eyes there, for Sam knew of no greater power to draw his gaze away than the one in their depths that held him.

 A tear dribbled down his master’s cheek as Frodo’s maimed fingers wobbled unsteadily where they hung; he choked and a deep moan tumbled from his lips as they came into contact with Sam’s face before his body was suddenly crashing into Sam like the gusts of sea air, wrapping about Sam within the blink of an eye, tight and shaking.

 Sam clung on fiercely as Frodo sobbed between panted breaths, hands sliding frantically from the corners of his shoulders to the opposite hip and along the slight furrow of his spine erratically. The gardener just squeezed his eyes shut against the blinding tears and clung on all the tighter to the shape and weight of his friend in his arms, seeming so familiar as if he had held it every day. And there was a scent in his dark hair that Sam had never noticed clinging to Frodo before, beneath the warm salt of sea spray, a scent of Bag End; that musk of the earthen larder walls and the Lavender that grew under what had been Frodo’s bedroom window and the sweet smoke that was exhaled by the logs as they burned in the study.

 Sam had been able to taste Frodo on the very air he breathed for sixty years.

 “I hoped...” A violent shudder stole over his master and Sam hung on to every breathed syllable of that soft voice, “I wished you would...” Frodo’s voice was stolen by the wind again, but the meaning still seemed to seep into Sam’s heart and fill his chest with hot joy.

 He sniffed, tears hard to distract from their determined fall, as he mumbled thickly, “I said I’d follow, didn’t I?”

 And then Frodo laughed and drew back a little, his eyes seeming to fix on parts of his face he himself had never given much heed to before. Slender pale hands rose to possess Sam’s jaw in their palms, watery eyes trailing over and over the crinkled damp crows’ feet and thin bottom lip and once-broken nose.

 Sam knew he would never be able to have his fill of seeing Frodo’s face again and so did not bother trying to start a task he could never finish. He let his eyelids slide shut and felt the wind-chilled clammy skin of Frodo’s forehead beneath his own. He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms tighter about his master. Frodo laughed again quietly, voice husky, and sweet Eru, if that weren’t the most glorious sound his old-young heart had ever felt reverberating against it.

 Frodo’s hands pulled his face down slightly and Sam smiled at the feeling of slightly chapped and salty lips scratching against his own lightly as he whispered on a sigh, “Well... I’m back.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one of five fics I wrote for a Song challenge from a friend. Five random tunes selected by the gods of fate from my music playlist; five one-shots, any fandom.
> 
> If you are curious to see what became of this, please visit my author homepage.
> 
> As always, my pet feedback monster is looking for comments for his breakfast. Any and all offerings would be much appreciated.


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